


What I took from you

by CulterVenatorius



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, But I don't feel comforted, Comfort?, Hurt, I Made Myself Cry, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Omega Will Graham, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Regret, i think so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 08:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16950342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CulterVenatorius/pseuds/CulterVenatorius
Summary: Something Hannibal can never give back





	What I took from you

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for all the mistakes. English isn't my first language.

With every sob of the younger man in the next room Hannibal dug his fingers deeper in his palms until the crescent-shaped imprints of his nails broke through the skin and began to bleed. He'd never been one for feeling regret, for wishing to undo his actions. He'd never questioned his murders, never felt unsure about manipulating Will nor letting him suffer in the BSHCI with his brain on fire. Neither did he feel any form of guilt about killing Abigail, nearly eating Will's brain or sending a killer after his makeshift family.. But now that he heard his omega crying, inconsolable in his pain, his heart hurt like it was in a vise, bolts gradually screwed tighter.

Four years since the fall.

Three years since they had mated and bonded.

Two and a half years since they had both finally given in in their longing for a family, a desire shared since Abigail, however conscious or not.

Two and a half years with heats after heats left with disappointment.

Self-delusion wasn't exactly surprising when it came from Will. But he, as a doctor should have known. It shouldn't have taken him so long, he shouldn't have tortured them for years with futile hope and disappointment. It shouldn't have needed the trip in the city to a specialized gynecologist, shouldn't have needed the ultrasound image and the sympathetic words of the doctor.

Will would never carry their child.

 

Hannibal had been in a daze when the woman's word registered. His mate's womb was too scarred for carrying a pregnancy to full term. It was almost a mercy that Will had never perceived. The zygote, the embryo, the first imago of their union would have never been able to nest in Will. It would have disengaged from the uterine wall and aborted in a gush of blood. They both would have known what had happened. Hannibal didn't say anything when Will stood up and shook hands with the doctor, outwardly calm. He didn't utter a single word when they walked to the car, nor when they got in and drove to their home.

“Hannibal, please...”

It had taken those two desperate words, uttered from Will in their bedroom, for Hannibal to finally look at his omega. He'd averted his gaze as soon as he registered the pain in those ocean blue eyes. He couldn't bear it. So he turned and walked away.

It had been his anger, the feeling of being betrayed, his wrath, his knife in his kitchen that had taken the chance of a child from Will, once and for all. He would never be able to right this one mistake in his live. He could deal with Will's wrath, with an righteous attack, with an attempt to kill him. But how was he supposed to bear this unrelenting sadness of his mate, this pain that shook his omega to the core? How could he ever face Will again?

It was then, standing in the living room with clenched fists, blood dripping from between his fingers, when he was forced to face the true consequences of his actions, that Hannibal Lecter, for the very first time in his life, showed real and true strength. He would have destroyed everything that, despite their loss, could still be, if he hadn't walked back, hadn't sat down on their bed, hadn't hesitantly lain a shaking hand on his mate and rubbed soothing circles on the back of the omega who was curled up beneath the sheets. If he hadn't been willing to take whatever Will would bestow onto him, he would have never learned that, while deeply hurt from that day's revelation, Will's biggest pain laid in his conviction that his alpha was disappointed by him, despised him, would turn and leave to never come back again. Seeing himself as a worthless omega, too broken to be of any use for the man he loved from within the deepest darkness of his soul, too entwined in their mutual game of manipulation, of hurting and betraying each other, too ashamed of his abandonment of the alpha all those years ago. Hannibal would have never been able to tell Will that he valued him more than his own life, that he would happily kill himself or giving himself up to Jack if would mean to lessen Will's pain even the slightest bit. And he would have never learned how genuine Will had been, back then in the catacombs, when he told him that he was forgiven.

They cried together, mourned together for the child that would never be. It took them months of shared pain, cuddled close and weeping in each other's arms, it took Will's pain turning to fire as he yelled at Hannibal, destroyed every teacup in their house, it took a heat with moments of Will frozen in shock, heartbroken. It wasn't a straight path, it was curled and twisted. Stony and full of thorns.

Here they are now, on the porch of their home, two days after yet another shared heat and rut. Will's head lies in the lap of his alpha whose fingers comb lovingly through dark, curled hair. It is a good life. It isn't perfect, far from it. But it is enough for them. It has to be.

 


End file.
